Twisted (46 page)

“How many voice mails did you leave?”

“None. Both their voice-mail boxes are full.”

“
Both
of them? That’s weird.” Something about that didn’t sit right with Derek. And when he got that unsettled feeling, he acted on it. “Dr. Doyle. Do you know the name of her physician, or, given her condition, her oncologist? I could call and make sure she’s all right.”

“Sorry. Don’t have access to her medical info. But it shouldn’t be hard to finagle. Dr. Doyle lives on West a Hundred and Seventy-first Street near Broadway. I’m assuming her pharmacy is close by. Hang on for a minute.” Bob called out to someone who was summoning him into the interrogation room. “I’ve got to go,” he told Derek. “I’ll call you later. Let me know if you reach Dr. Doyle.”

“Will do.” Derek disconnected the call, then called Tony and explained what he needed.

“What are you hoping to find?” Jeff asked, once his partner had hung up.

“I don’t know.” Derek scowled. “But this feels wrong. And I can’t get what I need by phone, because no pharmacist or doctor is going to release patient information to me without seeing proper authorization. So Tony’s sending someone out.”

He spent the next half hour on the Internet, searching for experts in Greek mythology.

He was about to contact a local college, when his cell phone rang.

“Yeah, Tony, do you have something for me?” Derek listened, then punched “off,” an odd expression on his face.

“What is it?” Jeff asked.

“The agent Tony sent out located Dr. Doyle’s pharmacist and her oncologist. Evidently, she’s no longer refilling her meds, and she’s no longer a patient at that—or any other—oncologist’s office.”

“Since when?” Bill demanded.

“Since yesterday. According to her oncologist—who was very forthcoming, once he heard the circumstances—she delivered this news to him by phone. It came as quite a shock. She’d been following his health regimen from when the cancer had originally been diagnosed—which was, apparently, long after it should have been. The implication was, she hadn’t been going for regular checkups, or this might have been caught early on.”

“What kind of cancer are we talking about?”

“The doctor’s not at liberty to say. But Tony said that our agent spotted a number of consult reports in Lillian’s file when the oncologist was going through it. Most of those consults were with an ob/gyn.”

“Got it.”

“Her oncologist said that Lillian’s always had an incredibly strong will to live—even recently, when the prognosis was at its grimmest. So her phone call and abrupt turnaround came out of the blue. He strongly advised her that she was making a rash and ill-advised decision, especially with regard to the pain medication. But she was adamant. She announced that she’d decided to go off to her country house and spend her last days in peace. No meds. No doctors.” Derek’s head came up, a glint in his eyes. “Only her son.”

After that, Derek was like a dog with a bone. He was onto something and he knew it. Now all he needed was proof, and enough probable cause to get it.

Ninety minutes later, Bob Erwin was summoned out of a meeting for an urgent phone call.

“This is Erwin,” he said.

“Bob, get a detective over to Lillian Doyle’s apartment
now,
” Derek instructed. “The landlord will let him in, since the apartment’s now officially vacant. You don’t need a search warrant; Dr. Doyle broke her lease. According to the landlord, she and her son dropped off her key and enough cash to cover the remaining months of the lease. They then promptly left, for good. ERT’s heading over there now to sweep the place and to get a
DNA
sample from Luke’s comb or his toothbrush, and helicopter it down to Quantico.

“And one more thing. Luke Doyle didn’t take a leave of absence from Bellevue. He quit. Said he was taking his mother and relocating—permanently. Coincidentally and on the same day, a shitload of morphine and Nembutal disappeared. But this time there were prints. I guess when you’re planning to disappear, you get careless about using gloves. His loss, our gain. I had the M.E.’s office compare those prints to the ones on Luke Doyle’s coffee mug and stethoscope. Game, set,
match
. We’ve got more than enough to arrest him.” Derek gritted his teeth. “Now we just have to find him.”

Consciousness returned in painful waves as she averted her face from the repugnant smell of the mattress she was lying on.

Where was she?

Memory filtered back, first in broken flashes, then in chunks, until it was all there.

Luke. All this time it had been Luke. A serial sexual killer. A stalker. A madman.

Her first reaction was overwhelming rage.

Luke Doyle had killed Elliot. And maybe Penny. And Lydia. And Cynthia. And the list went on and on. Including helpless Asian women who’d been sold into prostitution and then brutally butchered by her dear friend Luke.

Rage transformed into guilt. How could she not have seen it? How could she not have known? If only she had, all those people might be alive today.

Usually, she was an excellent judge of character. But not this time. Then again, Luke had never acted abnormally around her. They’d had lunch together, taken walks together, faced a world tragedy together.

But when she got right down to it, how much time had they
really
spent together? Talked?

Not a hell of a lot. Not alone and not in any depth.

He was a medical assistant. He healed people. She’d watched him do so with her own eyes. He’d been caring, compassionate, gentle.

And that same man whose gentle hands had healed the wounded had slashed people’s throats and carved up their bodies. How was that possible?

Even now he was a walking contradiction. He had put his entire world on hold to care for his mother during her final days. He’d even moved in with her to be the best caretaker possible. He’d literally given up everything in his life to ease her passing.

What life?

The thought suddenly struck Sloane like a ton of bricks. Whenever she and Luke
had
talked, it had been about work, about 9/11, about her recovery from her hand injury. Never a word about his friends, never a mention of a date, never a funny story from his past.

And, lately, never a word about anything but Lillian.

Because Lillian
was
his life.

Mentally, Sloane reviewed the detailed profile Larry had developed of their serial sexual killer.

An abnormal bond with his mother. A screwed-up view of other women—the “good girls” and the “bad girls.” A built-up rage that needed only a trigger to set him off.

That trigger was Lillian’s cancer.

It made perfect sense. When Lillian was first diagnosed, Luke had freaked out. The result had been Penny’s abduction. Others had followed. Then Lillian had gone into remission, so the kidnappings had stopped. That was the classic “cooling off” period ascribed to serial killers when their stressor ebbed. And now, when he knew his mother’s cancer was terminal, when he was about to lose her forever, he’d gone completely over the edge.

That explained the why. The rest of what was going on here was up to her to decipher.

Sloane shifted, trying—and failing—to change position, so she could get a glimpse of her surroundings. Abruptly, she realized why she couldn’t move. Her arms and legs were in shackles. Evidently, Luke didn’t trust her.

Smart man.

He knew how advanced her Krav Maga skills were. He wasn’t taking any chances, especially not after the ass kicking he’d taken from Tina.

With an iron will, Sloane fought the last vestiges of medication, forcing her head to clear. She couldn’t see much, but she could see that she was alone. That was a temporary luxury she couldn’t afford to waste. She had to assess her surroundings, her resources, and her limitations, plus work out her strategy, all before Luke came back.

Dark, cramped room. One blackened window separating her from the world. One dimly lit, freestanding lamp. One wooden chair. Concrete floor. Dirty mattress. Rough wool blanket. Definitely not the Ritz-Carlton.

Resources—none.

Limitations—plenty. Shackles. The excruciating pain in her hand. Being held prisoner by a serial sexual killer who had definite plans for her.

Conventional escape were out. Luke had a combat knife, a traveling drugstore, and a twisted mind. If she fought him, he’d slash her throat or drug her. Either way, she’d die in minutes.

Her only hope of survival was taking a more subtle approach—at least until she figured out what Luke had planned. Not just for her, but for any other victims who might still be alive. Sloane had to find a way to comfortably ease him back into the friendship they’d shared. Maybe then she could earn a modicum of his trust, get the information she needed to fully assess the situation, and look for the best, one-shot opportunity she’d have to escape.

Footsteps sounded from down the hall, followed by a key inserted in her door lock.

Sloane took a slow, deep breath. The Bureau had trained her as a hostage negotiator at Quantico. She’d honed her crisis resolution and active listening skills in the field.

Time for the ultimate test.

This time the life she was negotiating for was her own.

Luke stepped into the room. His gaze immediately darted to Sloane. Illuminated by the hall light, he was fully and clearly visible for one brief moment before he shut the door behind him. In that moment, Sloane saw an opaque emptiness in his eyes that told her that the Luke she’d known—the one who could at least feign sanity—was gone.

“You’re awake,” he observed, crossing over to sit on the chair. “I wanted to be here when you woke up so you wouldn’t be afraid. But Gaia needed me. She was in pain. I couldn’t allow that. You understand.”

“Of course.” Sloane nodded. “May I ask who Gaia is?”

A soft smile curved Luke’s lips. “The supreme goddess. Goddess of the earth, the core of all creation. She rules over the sky, the mountains, and the sea.”

“The supreme goddess,” Sloane repeated, as if it were the most natural statement in the world to make. “And you said she was in pain. Are we talking about your mother? Is Lillian Gaia?”

“In this world, yes. But all that will change very soon.”

“Were you able to relieve her pain? Is she comfortable now?”

A startled look, but one of gratitude and pleasure, crossed Luke’s face. Not a surprise, given his attachment to Lillian.

“That’s very kind of you to ask,” he responded. “Yes, she’s resting peacefully now. I had to administer additional morphine.” A pause, during which Sloane noted the tiniest flicker of sanity in his eyes. “I didn’t expect this to happen so quickly. Of course my plans are in order, but…” He shrugged, and the sanity was gone. “Nature works as she chooses. All I can do is relieve her pain, sit by her side, and let her know how precious she is. I take solace in the fact that, although her life here on earth is about to end, her life on Mount Olympus will last forever.”

Sloane had no clue what all these references to Mount Olympus meant, but it was time to find out.

“Gaia is fortunate to have a son who cares so deeply,
and
one who’s medically trained to ease her suffering,” she said aloud.

“It’s I who am blessed. I’m proud that I could become a son who’s worthy of her. Gaia devoted her life to enlightening me. She taught others conventional knowledge, but she taught me the difference between good and evil, and stressed all the attributes that would make me deserving of my place on Mount Olympus.”

This time the reference to Mount Olympus caused a sliver of memory to flash in Sloane’s mind. Something Luke had said just before she’d blacked out, when he was shooing away the hounds.

You’ll miss her,
he’d told them.
But it won’t be for long. You’ll join us at Mount Olympus very soon. Artemis will decree it. She needs her hounds.

Artemis. Gaia. Mount Olympus.

The connection gave Sloane a good starting point.

“I’m not an expert in Greek mythology,” she told Luke truthfully. “But you keep mentioning Mount Olympus. And I remember your calling me Artemis earlier in the day. Is that because I’m an archer and because I have my hounds?”

Again, pride and pleasure. “Actually, it’s the other way around. It’s because you’re Artemis that you act as you act, and do as you do. But I’m glad you see the correlation.”

“Is this Mount Olympus?”

Luke looked amused. “Hardly. This is a dungeon. And I’m sorry you have to be confined to it. It won’t be for long. As soon as I’m convinced I can trust you, I’ll move you to your room.”

“My room?”

“The other goddesses have concrete basement rooms like this one. But you, you’re above that. As am I. Artemis and Apollo. Once we reach Olympus, you and I will sit at Gaia’s feet and the others will serve us.”

Others?
Sloane had to fight to keep the hopeful leap her heart gave under wraps.

“Who are these others?” she asked carefully.

“They’re the lesser goddesses. The ones who’ll be accompanying us on our journey.”

“I see. And they’re all here now? None have gone on ahead of us?”

“Certainly not.” He seemed astonished that she’d even ask. “No one precedes Gaia. All the goddesses, and myself, must wait for her to lead the way. Until she passes, which I expect will be in a day or two, each and every one of the lesser goddesses will wait right here with us. You, as a supreme goddess, are my last addition, the perfect complement to my role serving Gaia. Now we’ll be ready, whenever she is.”

Thank God. That meant the kidnapped women were alive. Including Penny.

Sloane squelched her relief. She was itching to probe deeper. But her negotiator’s instincts sensed that Luke was becoming emotional, and that he was already at the edge of his comfort zone. So she’d wait, stick with more basic, noninflammatory questions, and revisit the gray area later.

“Apollo. Is that what I should call you?”

“Not yet.” He visibly relaxed. “Not until our ascent. Here I’m Delphi.”

Delphi. Sloane racked her brain. If she remembered her ancient history correctly, Delphi was a sacred Greek temple or shrine, probably dedicated to either Apollo, Artemis, or Gaia. It made sense. Luke saw himself as the central vessel through which they would ascend to Mount Olympus.